Page 63 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol. 1
The journey will take about ten days. I’ll need to ration food and water until then.
The cockpit is simple: one seat facing a console, and behind it, a small ovoid space—barely four by three meters. At the far end, a narrow door leads to what I assume is a restroom.
It doesn’t take long to explore. Five minutes, and I’ve seen it all—from the tiny hygiene cubicle to the drawer with nutrition bars, to the single sleeping pod.
When I unfold the bunk, a wave of emotion hits me. The last time I lay in one of these… was the night Pherebos made me his. That memory, once so precious, now feels like a cruel echo.
With nothing else to do, I curl up on the bunk and let the grief take over. His betrayal cuts deeper than I imagined possible. I gave him everything—my trust, my heart—and he shattered it. I thought I was being careful. I thought I’d learned. But I let myself believe in him. And now I know I was just another pawn in his dealings with the Coalition.
Sleep takes me slowly, heavy with sorrow.
A violent jolt wakes me. Disoriented, I sit up.
“Alert,” the AI announces. “Protective shields are defective.”
“What? What’s going on?”
“A magnetic pulse has damaged the shields. Protection level now below 10%.”
Another jolt. The lights flicker and die, replaced by a dim orange glow. Then—silence. Even the AI goes quiet.
“AI, de-opacify the front panel!” I call out, hoping to see what’s happening outside.
Nothing. No response. The system is dead.
I try everything—tapping controls, checking panels, even the food drawer and restroom. All locked. I’m trapped. Hungry. Thirsty. And the cold is creeping in.
I don’t know if the ship is still moving or drifting. I don’t know if I’m near a base or lost in deep space. I only know one thing: I might die here.
Eventually, I lie back down, numb. There’s nothing more I can do.
As I fade, my thoughts betray me. I see Pherebos again—his violet eyes, his strong hands, his lips on mine. And despite everything, I fall asleep thinking of him.
Pathetic, right?
A sudden noise jolts me awake. My limbs are heavy, my breath shallow. A flashlight blinds me.
“Whoa! Can you believe this?” says a nasal voice. “Hey, Prax, check this out!”
Everything comes rushing back—the breakdown, the silence, the cold. I was dying. But someone found me. I’m not alone anymore.
I try to sit up, but I’m weak. Two figures stand over me. I don’t care how they got in—I’m just grateful they did.
The first one is massive, with scaly skin, a tetrahedral head, and no hair. I’ve never seen anything like him.
“Shit,” says a deeper voice. “You’re right. This isn’t a Confederation officer. There’s been a mix-up.”
I turn my head toward the second voice. A Sadjim. No doubt. Half-feline, half-human. Young, energetic, with golden eyes and narrow pupils that scan me slowly.
So… they were expecting Akifumi. A Confederation officer. And instead, they found me.
“Who cares?” the first one says. “She’s still worth something. We did the work. No way we’re giving up our prize because of a content error. She’s young. Attractive. She’ll fetch a good price. I’ll sedate her and bring her in—”
No. No, no, no.
I can’t believe it. I escaped one trap only to fall into another. Slave traders.
I try to move, to run—but the Sadjim grabs my arms. His eyes are apologetic, almost regretful.
